


safe with me

by elareine



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Communication, Developing Relationship, Dom/sub, Friends to Lovers, Intimacy, Kink Negotiation, Kissing, M/M, Praise Kink, Relationship Negotiation, Service Top, Topping from the Bottom, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:53:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23160514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elareine/pseuds/elareine
Summary: The first time Tim and Jason have sex, Tim thinks: This is it. Finally.Turns out it’s only the beginning.(Based on the prompt: “The truth is being with you scares me. But not being with you…terrifies me.”)
Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Comments: 35
Kudos: 563





	safe with me

**Author's Note:**

> For anon, who prompted this on my Tumblr. 
> 
> I can’t give enough thanks to xavierurban for looking this over! Your pointers and encouragement made this a much better fic. All remaining mistakes are obviously mine. 
> 
> _Detailed, spoilery warnings:_ This one is a bit icky about sex in the beginning. They both try to ignore things that make them uncomfortable during sex. They address this and it gets better.
> 
> There’s also a hint at sexual abuse in the past.

The first time Tim and Jason have sex, Tim thinks: _This is it_. _Finally._

Jason’s mouth on his is hungry, devouring, and Tim clings to him. Sure, they should be talking about this, but they know how they feel, right? No need to speak when there are all these feelings running through Tim, narrowing the world down to Jason’s mouth, his hands, his body. 

God, it took them _so long_ to get here. So long. 

Jason pulls up Tim’s shirt and follows it immediately with his hands. Tim groans, arching into it. They’re big and calloused and everything he ever wanted to feel. His own fingers are holding on to Jason’s hair, his broad shoulders, eager to have him closer, to never let him go. 

Jason ducks down and mouths at Tim’s throat. When that gets him a pleased hum, he keeps going, though he’s never rough enough to leave a mark. Tim’s almost too distracted to notice that Jason’s opening his pants, though he does eagerly shimmy enough that they fall down to his thighs when he does. 

He tries to go for Jason’s pants—those sweet, sweet leather pants—when Jason pulls back and puts Tim’s hands down next to him. “Keep them there.” 

There’s something weird in that tone. Tim is pretty sure that’s just Jason being awkward, though, so he smiles flirtatiously. “If you insist.” 

The way Jason touches his cock is not awkward at all. Tim can’t help the humiliating groan that leaves him when Jason starts jerking him off all fast and sure, twisting his wrist just right when he reaches the tip. 

It’s been so long. He’s been waiting for this, for Jason. 

The knowledge of who it is that’s finally touching him makes this hotter, makes Tim writhe in Jason’s grip and feel his orgasm approach way too soon. It’s okay, he tells himself. This is just their first time. He can focus on Jason, after, and maybe there’ll be a round two in the shower or something. Jason’s kneeling over him, his mouth still busy at Tim’s throat, and it’s good, so good when Tim comes. 

He smiles at the ceiling for a long moment, floating high. Then he gets his hand to lay down flat next to him and tries to push up, to sit up and make Jason feel just as good, but Jason stays on him, heavy, and Tim can’t. 

“Hey, let me?” he asks. The noise of Jason jacking off is loud in his ears, and he wants to help, to _see._

Jason is… quiet, though. Tim is still too happy about what’s happening to worry about that. He can deal with quiet partners. It’s all the more fun to draw them out. Jason proves him right when he sighs and jerks against him; the sound is nothing less than sweet. 

Tim finally slides his hand up and into the soft hair at Jason’s nape. He wants to draw him closer, have him drop his full weight on him and cover him completely. It’s a position he’s daydreamed about before. Just the two of them on this couch, whiling away the hours like there’s nowhere else to be. 

Jason doesn’t move for a long minute, ignoring or not noticing the pressure Tim is exerting by now. His breathing is too fast. 

“Jay?” Tim asks. 

“Uh. Thanks,” Jason says, but he’s not looking at Tim still, and he’s drawing back, already getting his clothes back into order. 

And then he leaves. 

So that didn’t go great. Tim’s not discouraged, though. Jason is a prickly pear of a man, and Tim never expected him to be anything else. 

The next time they meet up, it’s in costume. It’s not by accident, though Tim pretends it is, and at first, everything is at it should be: banter, getting shot up, more banter as they tie up the shooters, waiting for the police to show up. 

Then Jason dusts off his hands and tips an imaginary hat. “Well, it’s been fun. See ya around.”

“Hood. Wait.” Tim’s determined not to let him get away. If he allowed Jason to flee every time feelings came up, they would’ve never mended their relationship in the first place. 

He takes off his domino and stares at Jason until the other man sighs and takes off his own mask. “Okay, what is it?” 

“Are we just going to pretend the other night didn’t happen?” 

Jason’s jaw works, but he tells Tim: “No.” 

Okay. Good. That’s something. “But?” Tim probes. 

“No buts.” 

Yeah, right. “Look, I—” 

Jason drops to his knees. 

Tim can only stare because this—this is something he only ever saw happening in his fantasies. 

Jason’s making quick work of his pants, astonishingly though considering Tim’s utility belt. He hasn’t taken his gloves off, and somehow that makes it better, makes it feel like every dirty fantasy Tim ever had on a stake-out and then some. 

Part of Tim wants to protest, but… is he really gonna turn away a blowjob by Jason? No. No, he is not. 

Jason wastes no time. 

“Fuck,” Tim gasps, then hastily brings up one hand to his mouth. 

Jason’s hot and wet around him, and the suction he immediately starts off with is so good, Tim doesn’t have words for it. Hoping to suppress any more embarrassing noises, he looks down. 

Something’s wrong. It takes Tim a second—he’s a bit distracted at the moment, okay—to figure out what it is. Jason’s eyes are staring forward. They’re not even shut, they’re just… focused on something else. 

In his dreams, Jason looked at him, his eyes bright and playful; or maybe challenging; or soft and loving or even fucking angry, just anything but this. 

Maybe he just needs time. Tim tries to put his discomfort to the side and concentrates on the heat of Jason’s mouth around him, the way he has started to really get into the motions, the feeling of his tongue. It’s really fucking great, after all. Enough to forget everything else. 

“Jay—Jay, I’m—” he tries to warn Jason, pretty sure that the other won’t pull away, but it’s only polite. 

True to form, Jason just works his throat more. Tim would love to describe what he’s doing in more detail, he really would, if only because he needs to learn that technique asap, but he’s a bit beyond words right now, groaning into his fist as he comes into Jason’s mouth. 

The way Jason tucks him back into his pants after is both absurd and caring. When he’s done, Tim follows the bonelessness in his soul, lets himself slide down to the ground and reach for Jason. “I’m going to blow your mind just as soon as I can move again,” he tells him, unable to keep the smile off his face.

“I—yes, I’m listening, O. Yeah. Sure. Right away.” Jason pulls back, grimacing apologetically at Tim. “Sorry. Raincheck?” 

“Sure.” Tim forces a smile and watches him leave. 

Babs is in Blüdhaven for date night. No way did she call Jason for anything less than an emergency—which Tim would know about. 

It keeps happening. Quick trysts on rooftops, handjobs on Tim’s couch, one excellent fuck in Jason’s hallway. And every time, there’s an excuse for Jason to leave after. 

This isn’t a relationship. It’s more like fuck buddies, Tim realizes, except the buddies part is slowly slipping away because they have sex anytime Tim is trying to be even a friend to Jason. 

Now, in principle and practice, Tim has nothing against a helping hand situation. That’s just how his friend group works. (What do people expect when they dropped a bunch of hormonal, super-powered, and overworked teens together? Of course there was experimentation.) 

But it’s not what he wants with Jason. He doesn’t think he could. Tim has loved him for so long, so fiercely, that anything casual is sure to break his heart. 

The decision to bring it up doesn’t come easy. There’s always the question of _what if he leaves_. Maybe he’ll show Jason what he wants, instead of asking. Perhaps Jason is just waiting for Tim’s permission. 

Next time. When they’re not outside or working on a case. When it’s safe. Next time. 

Next time finds them on the couch again, Jason on top of him. Jason’s kisses are like firestorms, and Tim loves it, he does. However, that’s not what he wants tonight. He gentles his own movements, tries to smooth out the tension in Jason’s shoulders with his hands, but all that gets him is Jason moving away and down. 

Now that Tim’s noticed, he can’t stop. Jason’s not looking him in the eyes. So he grabs Jason’s face with both hands, makes him look up with all the strength people often forget Tim possesses, and whispers: “I love you, you know?” 

Jason freezes. That’s okay, Tim expected something like that. No bat deals well with a sudden emotional conversation. But the seconds tick by, and still Jason looks like a deer caught in headlights. 

The answer should be obvious. Tim thought it was. Isn’t it? 

“I could really use a reply here.” Tim’s trying to keep his voice light; it breaks on the last word. 

Still Jason is silent. 

Something in Tim crumbles. Fuck. He should’ve known that this—this is too good to be true. Clearly, that first night had been nothing more than physical attraction and adrenaline taking its course. And after—Tim feels his cheeks burn. Did he push Jason into this? Was he so infatuated that he projected his feelings onto Jason and forced him into something he doesn’t want? 

“Tim.” Jason is looking at him now. At least there’s that. 

“Yes?” 

“I—” Jason opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. 

Tim deflates. “Guess I got my answer, then. Please leave.”

Jason hesitates, and for a wild moment Tim considers leaving himself, launching himself out of the window, maybe, just anything to get away from him—but then he turns, grabs his jacket and goes. 

That doesn’t make Tim feel better. It doesn’t feel like anything ever will. 

Tim is not ashamed to say that he follows the tradition of all the broken-hearted people in the world and calls his best friends because he’s crying over a man. They don’t disappoint; it takes less than an hour before Kon’s apartment turns into cheer-up-Tim central. 

It’s going about as well as one can expect until Bart asks: “Wait, what are we assuming is happening again?” 

“Douchebag started sleeping with Tim but doesn’t love him,” Cassie says, which. Ouch. 

“Hmm.” To Tim’s surprise, Kon sounds thoughtful. “Never pegged him to be the type for a casual fuck.” 

“Yeah, no offense, Tim, but he’s got the same intensity as all of you. That’s like imagining _Batman_ can do casual.” Bart wrinkles his nose. “Eww.” 

“I mean, if you think about it…sleeping with you is a fundamentally bad idea.” 

“ _Thanks, Cassie.”_ Tim throws his cushion at her. 

She ignores that. “Aren’t you the only one out of the clan that regularly deals with him?”

“And you guys are like, friends. You always keep going on about that great strategic mind of his—would he really risk your friendship for some booty?” Kon lifts his hand at Tim’s glare. “I’m just saying. You sure you didn’t misunderstand or anything?” 

“I told him, ‘I love you,’ and he left. What’s there to misunderstand?” 

“Dude. That’s exactly what you told us Bruce did after things got serious with the cat lady.” 

“Didn’t he go to space?” 

“He did.” 

Kon continues, undeterred: “And I know you all think Nightwing is the single most adjusted person on the planet, but I’ve heard some things. ” 

“Not to mention, you used to disappear cause you were worried we’d all, like, die if you got too attached,” Cassie points out. 

Tim refrains from reminding her that they all have, in fact, died. What’s even the point these days. 

Instead he thinks about it, really thinks about it, trying to push away his own fears of rejection. And… “Goddammit. You couldn’t have let me sulk in peace?” 

He sends a text to Jason the next evening, and he waits. An hour later, it’s his doorbell that chimes, not his phone.

“I’m sorry,” Jason says as soon as Tim opens the door. He’s talking quickly and with determination. “I’m sorry, and I should’ve said it back because I do.” 

There’s a massive part of Tim that just wants to bask in that revelation. He isn’t wrong, he isn’t imagining this thing between them, Jason _loves_ him. He could let that be enough.

It won’t be. 

Tim waves Jason inside. His neighbors don’t have to hear this. Then he asks: “Why didn’t you?” 

Jason’s shoulders slump. At first, Tim thinks it’s in disappointment at Tim’s reaction, but he sees: It’s relief. To not be shut out? To not be shouted at, to not be hit? 

Jesus. Sometimes he forgets about how deep that hurt runs. 

“I panicked.” Jason looks away, shakes his head, visibly forces his eyes back to meet Tim’s. “The other times, too. Just less obviously, I guess.” 

“I understand that,” Tim says. He does. In retrospect, it’s obvious. “What I don’t get is why you keep trying.” 

Jason actually laughs at that. It’s not particularly amused, more resigned. “Tim, being with you scares me shitless.” 

Tim flinches. The hurt is sharp and tangible. “I—” 

“No, wait, that didn’t—” Jason sounds frustrated. “I haven’t done this before, okay? I know sex. But you—that’s so much more, and I don’t know how to deal with that.” 

Tim kind of gets that. He was like that, too, before he had his friends, had Steph, who ignored his awkwardness and taught him. Lacking a framework to operate in when it comes to something as vulnerable as love… it’s terrifying. 

And there are still things he doesn’t know about Jason. Hasn’t asked about, maybe never will. Years that are empty spaces. Experiences that could’ve been tainted or never happened, for all Tim knows. 

“Why do you try, then?” Tim asks again instead of voicing all that.

“Not being with you? That idea is terrifying.” 

“Okay. Okay, okay.” Tim takes a deep breath. “That’s something. Thank you for telling me.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

Tim shakes his head. He gets it now, and he’s not angry. “I trust you,” he says, confident in the truth of it. “And I’ll wait for you to trust me, too.” 

Jason protests: “I trust you!” Then he pauses. “More than pretty much anyone. I’m just not made for trusting, I think.” 

“Pretty sure neither of us is made for the things we do every night,” Tim points out. “We still learned to jump off buildings.” 

Jason laughs. It sounds a bit more genuine this time. “Point.” 

They look at each other.

“I don’t really know where to go from here,” Tim admits. He didn’t expect to come even that far. 

Jason squares his shoulders. “You want a relationship, right?” 

“Right.” 

“Same. I’m probably going to be terrible at it—already am—but I’d like to try. If you want me to.” 

“Then we try.” Tim smiles, but remembers to add on: “But this time, we take it slow.” 

“Slow? So…” 

“It’s not that I don’t want sex.” Holy fuck, does he ever. “But I don’t want you to feel bad after, and I don’t want sex where I’m constantly worried or holding back. That’s not my thing at all.” 

“In that case, I don’t know what I can give you.” 

“Jason.” Tim wants to cup his face, wants to stroke his cheekbones, make Jason look at him and hold him secure at the same time. He does none of these things, just wills the sentiment into his voice. “You don’t need to give me anything at all.” 

“But I want to.” 

“Then you will.” Tim has never doubted Jason’s willpower before, and he doesn’t now. They just need to make sure they don’t shatter in the meantime.

“What—what do _you_ want?” Jason asks. 

He wants this to be easy, perfect, the way he’s always imagined it to be. That’s not gonna happen, he knows that now, and Tim is okay with that. So he asks for the most important thing: “Stay?” 

“In general, or right now?” 

“Uh, both? Seeing you run—that hurts.” Tim’s not trying to punish Jason, but the other flinches nonetheless. “We don’t have to touch. You don’t have to undress or anything, just—stay with me tonight. If you want to.” He considers that then hastily adds: “It’s not over if you don’t! If you can’t, that’s totally fine—we’ll just—”

“Okay.” 

Tim stops. 

Jason’s not smiling, but there’s something soft around his mouth. It’s maybe the most vulnerable Tim’s ever seen him. “Okay. I’ll stay.” 

Tim’s eyes are burning. 

“Now?” he asks. It’s a bit early for the two of them. However, the emotional turmoil of the last few days made him tired.

“Yeah. Yeah, why not.” Jason nods, looking determined as he gestures toward the bedroom door. “After you.”

Getting ready for bed with another person is weird. Intimate. Jason obviously didn’t bring any sleep things. Tim hands him some sweats that he keeps around for visitors—clothing rips in fights, it happens—and, after a moment of indecision, Jason walks off to the bathroom to get changed. Tim hears water running in the sink and considers reminding Jason about the spare toothbrushes in the cabinet, but the sound of scrubbing tells him Jason found them. 

That leaves him to change and trot into the bathroom after Jason vacates it, and then there’s nothing left to do anymore but for the two of them to go to bed. Jason’s already lying down, waiting for him with carefully constructed ease. 

After a moment of thought, Tim slides under the blanket at the point that’s farthest away from Jason. He’s never been great at staying still in his sleep, and Jason looks like he might shatter at a touch. 

Jason’s the one who turns off the light. “G’night.” 

“Night.” Tim shuts his eyes. 

Jason doesn’t sleep that night. Tim naps, and every time he wakes up, Jason is just lying there, breathing deeply and deliberately with his eyes wide open. 

But he stays. That’s the important thing. 

The next morning, Tim wakes up to noise in the kitchen. He allows himself to return to consciousness slowly, secure in the knowledge that yes, _yes_ , this is what he wanted. 

Then Jason pops his head through the door. “Good morning. I’m still here.” 

“I can see that.” Tim’s tone is dry, even as all he wants is to say _thank you_. 

“There’re pancakes in the stove. I’m gonna leave now, or Roy’s going to bitch at me all day for missing our hanging-out-time, but I’ll come back, okay?” 

Tim’s grinning. “Okay.” 

Jason points at him. “Don’t forget it.” 

“I wouldn’t.” 

True to his word, Jason lets himself in again in the afternoon. He brought take-out, which is almost enough to draw another love confession from Tim. He’s been focused on finding the weakness in Luthor’s newest encryption method all day, lost in code, just to emerge victoriously about ten minutes ago and realize that he’s starving again. 

(He’s a real adult. Honestly.) 

“Sit with me?” Tim asks as he takes his box of noodles. 

Jason drops down on the couch next to him. After a tense second, he snorts. “This is ridiculous. We sat like this a million times before.” 

Tim shrugs. The movement rubs his shoulders against Jason’s arm. It’s not that big of a couch. “It’s different, though, isn’t it?”

“I guess. What’re we watching?” 

“Criminal Minds.” 

“You’re fucking kidding me.” 

“It’s relaxing.” 

“No, it’s fucking not.” Jason looks genuinely incensed by that. It has the side-effect of making him relax against Tim. “All they do is come up with poor copies of ways women get murdered!” 

“Exactly. And then someone gets kidnapped and everything gets solved. Relaxing.”

Jason eyes him. “You’re creeping me out a little here.” 

“Heads in a bag,” Tim sing-songs. 

“Urgh. Fine.” 

It becomes a routine. Not the tv watching part—they both work too much for that to be part of daily life, and Jason prefers books, anyways. The hanging out, though, that’s happening again, and more often than before. If it’s not Jason seeking out Tim’s apartment after a long night, it’s Tim breaking into Jason’s to get some decent breakfast. 

Which is what he’s trying to do today, except that for some reason, Jason seems to be preoccupied.

“How the fuck did you even get that?” Jason’s staring at the wound on Tim’s arm in disbelief. “Did you wrestle a cat?” 

“It’s not that bad.” 

“One,” Jason holds up a finger, “it is. And two, you’re avoiding the question.” 

“Got caught on something mid-swing.” Tim grimaces as he peels away the sleeve. The cut goes from his shoulder to his wrist, and even if it’s not that deep, it stings like a bitch. 

Immediately, Jason is there, gently pushing his hand away to examine the wound. “We should get that cleaned up and bandaged. You’re right, it’s not that bad, but you’re going to feel it every time you move.” 

“Tell me about it.” Tim knows he sounds grumpy, but seriously. 

Jason just laughs and goes to grab the first aid kit. Tim reaches for it; it’s not that deep, and he has plenty of practice stitching himself up one-handed. Jason swats him away like an unruly cat, though. It takes him no time to close the wound and affix the protective bandages. 

There’s a fraction of second where Jason hesitates, and then he lets his mouth follow, dropping a shy kiss to where the bandage meets the soft skin of Tim’s wrist. 

Tim’s breath catches, which is a mistake. Jason pulls back, looking unsure all of a sudden. So Tim does the only thing he can think of: Catches Jason’s hand in his, gently squeezing it and whispering: “Thanks.” 

Their eyes lock, hold. 

Jason clears his throat. “Anytime. Anyway, breakfast?” 

“Finally. I’ve been starving, Jason, _starving._ ” 

They keep going like that. Just spending time together, spending the night at the other’s place, casually touching, small gestures of affection, existing in the other’s personal space. It’s not enough, and at the same time, it’s so, so much. 

They go public, too. Well, more public. Tim’s friends already knew. As did Roy, considering the text Tim got after that second-first night and day that just read: _‘bomb in your bed if you hurt him, bla bla, you know the drill, but I’m rooting for you.’_ So that means the rest of Jason’s friends do, too. 

Apart from that, it’s more of a not-secret. When Dick asks after finding Jason in Tim’s apartment, his bed, Tim doesn’t lie, and neither does Jason. Babs knows by extension and because she’s Babs. The brat is choosing to ignore the whole issue. Steph thinks it’s the funniest thing she’s ever seen.

They both know Bruce knows. No point in acknowledging that. No point in noticing how often they are sent to work on the same cases these days, either. 

At least following your target into a club is easier when it’s two of you. Still fucking boring, but you can’t have everything. Jason drinks a bit, Tim not at all, and this is his fifth run to get them something fruity to sip on while the businessman they’re following is getting his rocks off. 

It takes ages to get the attention of the bartender. When he finally has his drinks and turns around to get back to Jason, Tim stops, because—that’s one handsome guy hitting on Jason. Pretty tall, broad shoulders, broad everything. 

He takes a second to examine his own reaction. Surely he’s not jealous. That’s never been his thing. And it’s not like there’s any reason to doubt Jason; the other has shown up, day after day, proving his commitment to Tim, to _them_. 

_But a one-night stand would be easy_ , the treacherous voice in his head whispers. Tim waves it aside. When the guy’s hand closes around Jason’s arm, though, he has to acknowledge: Yeah, he’s definitely a bit jealous. Not worried, mind, but jealous. 

His mind thus made up, Tim walked over to finally join the conversation. To his surprise, Jason immediately wraps an arm around his shoulder, shaking off the dude’s hand in the process. 

“One more time, I’m here with my boyfriend. You can grow some brains and listen, or I _will_ run out of patience and punch you. Whatever happens first.” 

“Your boyfriend. Sure.” The guy looks a bit skeptical, his eyes lingering on Jason’s hand on Tim’s shoulder. Tim doesn’t give two shits, just leans into it and allows himself to smile. 

This one? This one’s his. 

So one of the problems of growing up around servants and Batman is that Tim isn’t the best cook in the world. Or any kind of cook. 

But Jason likes home-cooked food and brings some for Tim whenever he’s over, and that can’t just continue one-sided. Besides, Tim’s getting a taste for it. 

He’s determined to learn. Adulting can’t be that difficult, right? 

Wrong. His casserole is a _mess_. Tim squints at it while holding his hands under the running cold water. It had just started to burn all of a sudden, the top layer charred and black, and then Tim tried to save if and grabbed the dish without protection. 

Closer inspection shows that the inside is still uncooked, almost raw, while the top is burned. The bottom is okay, maybe. It could be edible. That’s something, right? 

A bit frustrated, Tim moves to get the storage containers from the higher shelves, which means climbing them, to be honest. He’ll just try to salvage what’s salvageable, and then try again tomorrow. Maybe they can order pizza. 

A warm presence presses against his back. “Whatcha looking for?” 

Tim flails. “Jay!” 

Warm arms catch him before he can stumble. Tim wouldn’t have come to any harm, but he appreciates it.

“Thanks,” he says. “Just trying to find a container for what’s left of the food.” 

Jason side-eyes the mess on the counter. “Yeah, I have it to break it to you, but that thing is gonna become sentient and start its own cult if we don’t destroy it soon.” 

Tim deflates. Not like he didn’t know that already, but he hates failing at something simple like this. It makes something ugly claw its way up again, anxiety bubbling under his skin even as he knows that Jason isn’t truly judging. 

(“ _Poor little rich boy.”_ Those days are long past. They _are_.) 

“Hey, c’mere,” Jason says and pulls him close. It takes Tim a second to react, it’s just so unexpected, but then he melts into the hug. His own arms wind around Jason’s middle, though he’s careful not to aggravate the burns. 

Yesss. Taller boyfriends. The best to hug. 

“The cooking thing might not be working so well,” he admits into Jason’s neck. “I wanted to make sure it’s not just you.” 

“How about you do the cleaning?” Jason suggests, sounding amused. “That’s a time-honored tradition. And maybe start with something easier next time. Pasta Verde, or braised chicken. I bet you’d be good at stir-frys.” 

“That sounds good.” 

“For the record, all you did was heat the butter at too high a temperature. If it’d been oil, you’d’ve been fine. Though I usually turn down the oven after getting it crispy.”

“Guess that’s what I deserve for taking a recipe off the internet.” 

“Some blogs are good, just have to know which.” Jason presses a kiss into his hair. “Let’s throw that away and order some pizza, hmm?” 

Great minds. Tim smiles. “Kay.” 

When Dick invites him to the fair, Tim's skeptical, to say the least. Yeah, sure, they’ve spent some nice days here when he was a teen, but Dick will be off socializing within minutes, leaving Tim to find his own entertainment. 

It’s okay, though. This time he’s got Jason. 

“So, what exactly is the point of family bonding when no one’s talking to each other?” 

Tim shrugs. “You’re talking to me.” 

Jason raises an eyebrow. “Is that what this is, brotherly bonding between the two of us? Would you like me to call you little brother?”

A frisson of heat goes through Tim at the thought, but he shakes his head. “How about we don’t make this weirder?” 

“What, you know the press is gonna ask exactly that if they ever find out who I am.” 

“Jason.” Tim gives him a pointed look. “If they ever find out who you are, we’re gonna have a whole other dimension of problems than just who you’re with.” 

“That’s fair. Anyway, I don’t think we even qualify for step-sibling porn, to be honest. Technically, we were never his sons at the same time.” Jason’s warming to the theme now. 

Tim rolls his eyes. “You’re still his son.” Always will be. That’s the problem. 

Jason snorts but doesn’t argue anymore. “So what’re we gonna do on this totally-not-brotherly bonding, then?” 

“Let’s get some cotton candy,” Tim decides. “Cotton candy and maybe some target shooting, if there are any cute toys to win.” 

He turns toward the direction of the sugary smell in the air. A tug on his arm stops him—Jason’s grabbing onto his sleeve. It’s such an endearing, child-like gesture that Tim’s just trying not to melt. Or say, “Use your words.” 

“Do you maybe wanna hold hands?” Jason asks, and it’s pretty smooth, Tim’s gotta give him that. You’d think he’d had practice. 

There’s nothing smooth in the way Tim beams at him as they link fingers. 

Dick sends him a snapshot of the two of them later. Tim immediately notes two things. One, he’s clearly not the stalker pap in this family, how dare they. And two, hey, he and Jason look pretty happy, in that comfortable, this-is-new-but-good way. 

He forwards it to his group chat and gets three rows of thumb-ups. 

“What the fuck happened there?” 

Tim waves Jason aside impatiently. He’s had a long day, an even longer night, and Jason can fuck off if he thinks Tim has any nerves left to deal with him right now. He came here for comfort, not to be lectured. 

“I can take care of myself.” 

Jason snorts derisively. “Clearly not.” 

His tone rubs Tim wrong. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“I mean,” Jason’s speaking slowly, now, as if to a child, “that you went back into a room that was about to explode.” 

“Would you rather I left the evidence there to eviscerate? _”_

“It was just evidence, not people.” 

“It was _necessary_.” Tim knows his tone is sharper than Jason’s worry warrants, knows that Jason might even have a point, but he’s already gotten the same lecture from Bruce and Dick, and he’s sick of everyone making his decisions for him.

Jason sighs. “Alright, alright. I just thought that was my specialty.” 

And just—no. Tim was so, so tired of Jason joking around that particular hurt. “Yeah, well, maybe you’re not as unique as you think you are. I made a tactical decision in the field. That’s all.” 

“It’s self-sacrificial bullshit, is what it is.”

“You know what—” Tim stops and forces himself to evaluate the situation. He knows how this goes. Jason turns sharp and Tim’s words become cutting and—they shouldn’t. It could bring everything down. Tim bites down on his lip and turns. He needs to go. 

Jason’s hand clamps around his wrist. This time, there’s nothing endearing about it. His grip is iron, even if Tim could twist out of it. 

“Let me go.” 

“Fuck you,” Jason spits even as he does. “You can’t say you trust me and then leave as soon as we’re both angry.” 

“That’s not what I’m—”

“Yes. Yes, it is. I’m sorry if it’s inconvenient for you, but I’m allowed to worry when you pull this shit. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t be yelling at me if it had been me.” 

And, yeah. Okay. Tim would’ve, even if he doesn’t want to admit it right now. 

Jason seems to read his mind because he nods. “Yeah, exactly.” He takes a step back and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “So if you need to leave, leave. But you better fucking come back.” 

Tim tries to look at that objectively, to look at what he wants instead of what he feels he should do. He realizes: “I don’t want to leave.” 

“Then don’t.” Jason’s hand is on his elbow now, and his face is soft. “Come to bed, Tim. We’re tired. It’s gonna be okay in the morning. We’ll talk.” 

“Okay.” Tim rubs a hand on his face, through his hair, then sighs. “Yeah, okay. I should shower, though.” 

“Go ahead.” Jason gently pushes him toward the bathroom. “Just don’t fall asleep in there.” 

“Sure.” 

But Tim can feel his movements slow down as he strips and gets under the water. The energy is draining out of him, now that the anger has calmed down to a simmer. 

When he gets out, there’s a set of soft pajamas waiting for him. 

Jason’s already in bed when Tim walks into the room. Tim slides in next to him, and for a long moment, they just look at each other. Tim kind of wants to crawl into Jason’s arms. He also doesn’t know if that would make it better for Jason or not and is too tired to risk it. 

Jason’s eyes flutter shut. He reaches out blindly for Tim, and Tim, with no idea what he’s looking for, gives him his hand. Jason grips it tightly. For a moment, they lay there, suspended in time. 

Maybe this is what it means to be with another person. To fight, to be angry, and to know that it doesn’t shake the fundamentals of the two of you together.

Jason pulls Tim’s hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss there before moving it so it presses against his heart. The tips of his fingers rest against Tim’s wrist, feeling his pulse. They fall asleep like that, tired and annoyed and alive.

After that night, they’re better. It’s hard to describe what exactly changed, but it’s like now that they’ve weathered the second storm, they’re sure the ship will stay afloat. 

So when Tim leans against Jason on the couch one morning and looks up to see him staring at him with intensity, he knows what Jason wants. It’s just that he also wants, needs, to hear it. 

And Jason gives him everything. “Can I kiss you?” 

“Yes.” It’s a whisper. 

Jason’s hand moves to his cheek, cradling him gently. He moves in slowly, giving Tim plenty of opportunities to change his mind and turn away, which he has no intention of ever doing. His eyes stay open even as Jason’s flutter shut when their lips touch; there’s so much to see, so much to take in. 

It’s not their first kiss, though it feels like one. Jason’s lips are dry and gentle. It’s stupid to read so much into a kiss—if anything, this has taught Tim that—but god, this is everything he’d been missing, tender and a bit nervous and _them._

When they separate, Jason actually needs a moment to open his eyes, and they look heavy when he does. It kind of makes Tim angry, it’s so adorable. Or maybe he’s just not used to feeling so much. 

“I love you,” he says. Has to. 

Jason smiles and whispers it back against his lips. 

Tim will never consider shopping anything less than hell. If he had his way, he’d never do anything but order clothes online, but nooo, bespoke suits apparently don’t come that way. 

At least François, his tailor, is an okay human being. If Tim absolutely has to make small talk with someone for over an hour, twice a year, then he’s not the worst choice.

Jason arrives mid-way through with two coffees, one sweet and frothy, the other black as Gotham’s soul. He slides the latter (heh, latte-r) over to Tim. “Here you go, babe.” 

“Thanks.” Tim smiles in appreciation as the smell hits his nose. 

“I’ll wait outside.” 

“Sure.” 

When he’s outside, François asks: “New boyfriend?” 

That makes it sound as if Tim had a long line before, instead of being hung up on the same guy for years. Still: “Yes.” 

François hums. He’s not looking up from where he’s taping Tim’s waist, but the curiosity is radiating off him. “Wouldn’t have guessed that’s your type.” 

Tim makes himself look at Jason like he were a stranger. Fairly tall, muscled, definitely dangerous. It’s in the way he carries himself, the way he carelessly lingers in front of the door. Park row accent, leather jacket, and a sweatshirt, a bruise blooming on his cheek. 

Yeah. On the surface, not much connecting him to Timothy Jackson Drake Wayne, getting measured in a shop so exclusive, it doesn’t even have a storefront window display. 

Tim shrugs and smiles at François. “I think we fit together well.” 

He’s plenty dangerous himself. 

One thing about that exchange sticks, though, and Tim brings it up when they’re back at his place. He’s watching Jason add today’s purchase of books to his own shelves and just goes for it. At least he never has to worry about being blunt or awkward with Jason. He seems to like it. 

“So. You called me ‘babe.’” 

“Oh. Yeah, I did. Do you mind?” Jason doesn’t look particularly worried. 

“Nah, it’s good. Or anything else you wanna go for, really.” 

Jason nods. “Kay, good to know.”

“What would you like me to call you?” Quite frankly, Tim is not cool enough to pull off calling anyone ‘babe.’ When Jason or Steph says it, it sounds smooth, loving, and a bit possessive. Tim just knows he’d start giggling.

“Call me?” 

“Yeah. As an endearment.” 

Jason’s cheeks are slowly turning red, and he’s not looking at Tim. Tim’s okay with that, as long as he keeps talking to him. 

“I do like ‘love,’” he admits. 

Tim considers that. ‘Love’ makes him think of one housekeeper, the one who always tried to make him eat more and introduced him to her grandchildren before his parents put a stop to that. Apart from that, it’s a word he associates with BBC dramas and shopkeepers in Gotham’s seedier districts. 

Oh. 

Tim tries it out. “Love. Love, love, love.” He watches Jason’s face. “Yeah, that fits.” 

There’s a moment of silence as if they’re both listening to the echo of the words. 

“Hug me, love?” Tim asks, already reaching out. 

“Sure, babe.” 

It’s as easy as that. 

The topic of sex inevitably comes up again. Kisses have become part of their daily lives by now, though they feel anything but routine. Occasionally they turn long and heavy, full of the desire that’s always sizzling between the two of them, always has been. The desire to go further is there, though Tim is enjoying the slowness in itself. 

Also, the talking thing has been working out pretty well for them. Tim figures they should keep that up. 

“So. About sex,” he says after they finish reviewing case notes over his kitchen table one day. 

Jason’s eyebrow goes up. “Do you want to…?” 

“Do you think we’re ready for that?” Tim asks. 

After a second, Jason shakes his head. 

“I don’t either, but I want to know what you want. What you _like_.” 

“Uh.” Jason looks thrown. 

“Let’s start with what the hard lines are,” Tim decides. “Mine are being restrained by cuffs, ropes or anything similar. Blood. Or anything that involves pain that we haven’t talked about.” 

Jason nods, heartfelt. “Same about any painplay. I probably don’t need to tell you I’m not a huge fan of whips et cetera.” 

Tim shudders. “Yeah, no, let’s not. Anything else I should know?” 

“I… don’t really like being penetrated. Just hasn’t been the best experience to me, and I don’t know if it’s going to trigger something—” 

“That’s fine,” Tim says. It happens to match his own preferences, but even if it didn’t: “We’ll leave that off the table. If you ever wanna experiment with that, I’d be more than happy, but if that’s never? That’s totally okay.” 

Jason looks relieved. 

“That leaves plenty of things on the table. Any likes in particular?” Jason doesn’t reply immediately, so Tim takes pity on him. “For example, I tend to be bossy. And I like having you underneath me. Or kneeling. That’s really hot. _You’re_ hot.” 

Jason blinks. “Thanks?” 

“You’re welcome. Your turn.” 

“Yeah, you’re hot too.” 

“Jay.”

“I know.” Jason scrubs a hand over his face. “Look, I can make sex jokes for ages, but this is difficult when I’ve never really asked myself that question.”

For a long second, Tim gets distracted by the idea of asking Jason to experiment for him. Jack off in front of him, maybe, tell him what feels good. Then he firmly pushes that away for much, much later—that’s a level of vulnerability and distance he’s not gonna ask from Jason anytime soon—and tries a different tack. 

“When we tried before, you seemed intent on, I dunno, pleasuring me. Which worked really well.” Jason grins, pleased. Tim continues: “Was that just panic, or something you like in general?” 

“Hmm. I do like that, concentrating on you. It makes it easier not to think.” 

Tim gets that—he really, really does—but… there’s something about his memory of Jason’s focus that makes him push the issue. “Like, when I tell you what I like? Or what exactly can I do?” 

“That, too, but just—uh—look, you gotta know that you being bossy makes me hot.” 

“Oh.” Tim’s thrown for a second, but. That actually makes a lot of sense. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he can feel Kon laughing at him. His friend always told him that one day, he’ll find someone who appreciates his need for control. “So… actual instructions?” 

Jason nods. “I think. I’ve never tried that with someone I trust—that I love—but, yeah. Just… the other stuff falling away, and I can just concentrate on what you say. I know it’s weird.” Jason is visibly turning defensive. “But you said—” 

“It’s not weird.” Tim thinks about that. “Or, well. In the greatest hits list of weird things in our lives, it’s, like, number thirty-four.” 

“Right after ‘daddy dresses up as a bat’?” 

“Nah, that’s at least top five.” 

“Nope, I think that’s all the zombies.” 

“See what I mean?” Tim laughs. He’s letting Jason have his distraction for now, doesn’t push. This has been plenty of embarrassing talk for one day. All he wanted were some pointers, some ideas of what to do to get Jason to relax the next time they try this. To make him feel as good as he makes Tim feel.

And Tim? Tim has an idea. 

Jason’s been staying over more and more, inviting Tim to do the same at his place. For this particular experiment, Tim decides to make his move at his own apartment, though. That way, if it gets too much, it’s easier for Jason to leave. 

Jason has settled on sleeping in boxers and a loose shirt. Tim’s wearing leggings and another loose shirt, one that he stole from Jason months ago before they even started this. 

Jason notices, of course. “Is that my shirt?” 

“Yupp.” Tim sounds utterly unrepentant, but there’s something in the heat of Jason’s gaze that tells him the other doesn’t mind. 

And then, to his surprise, his boyfriend actually says so. “Well, feel free to steal some more.” 

“Don’t make offers you don’t mean.” 

“Lifetime’s supply of free shirts—that’s me, babe.” Jason winks. When he finally gets settled in and turns to face him, Tim’s grinning. “What?” 

“Nothing.” 

‘Lifetime,’ huh? 

It takes him a second to remember: He had a plan, dammit. 

“Hey,” he starts, trying and failing to sound casual, “do you think we could…” 

Urgh, dammit. For all his talk of communication, this shit is difficult. Jason’s watching him with a raised eyebrow, so Tim scoots close, turns, and pulls one of Jason’s arms around him like a heavy blanket. “Like this?” 

Jason sighs and melts into him. His hand presses on Tim’s chest, pulling them as close as possible, his nose buried in Tim’s hair. 

“Good night,” he whispers, and yes, good, that’s exactly how Tim wants him to sound, relaxed and sleepy. 

He seems secure in the knowledge that Tim asked him to do this. Tim will analyze that, he will, but for now, he’s comfortable and warm and held, and he goes to sleep before he can. 

Tim tests his hypothesis twice more: Once by plopping his head into Jason’s lap and demanding head scratches, once by asking him very sweetly to make his favorite dish. As he watches Jason humming to himself in the kitchen, he feels his breath quicken. 

He didn’t really consider the implications before. That’s how it is for him, sometimes; he gets so caught up in finding out the _facts_ that he doesn’t think about the _and then?_

Which are a lot of words to say that he’s panicking. 

This is a lot of responsibility. He trusts Jason not to let Tim hurt him. He does. Does he? Because the way Jason gets when Tim tells him what to do, when he’s trying to please him… Tim’s not sure. Not that he would ever want to hurt Jason, he doesn’t, but what if he fucks up? He probably will. That’s just what happens, he’s not perfect, he’s—

He’s trying. What if Jason’d trusted the wrong person with this? The mere thought makes Tim want to punch something. No, it’s good that he came to Tim with this, even if Tim has no idea what he’s doing, even if he’s breathing quickly and fretting because maybe he likes the idea of doing that for Jason a little too much. 

Okay. Okay. This is pretty new still. There’s no reason to panic. Tim didn’t turn into Robin after a few days of training. He can do this, he just needs to learn, and so does Jason. 

They need to practice. 

First, though, Tim does what he does best: Research. 

You cannot become a vigilante, have internet access, and not know about a lot of forms of sex. The way Jason takes to his orders and relaxes at them, the way Tim is already thinking of using that in bed—that can’t be new. Someone must’ve figured this out before him. 

‘Bdsm’ is the first word he googles. He quickly realizes that he needs to add ‘resources,’ but even then, too much of what he finds includes pain. Jason isn’t his ’sex slave’ to ‘punish,’ for God’s sake. 

Some of the more informative sites include words like ‘submissive’, however. It doesn’t feel like a word that fits Jason—if anything, it’s his defiance that Tim fell in love with first—but the more he reads, the more he gets it. 

It’s not perfect. Nothing he reads fits their situation exactly—and how could it? Doesn’t mean it’s not useful. Tim takes his pointers where he can. At least it sounds like the stuff he’s been doing—the small requests, introducing this concept in private but outside of sex, praise as a reward—is on the right track. 

He also notes down the suggestion about safe words, and brings it up with Jason: “Hey, you know you can say ‘no’ anytime I ask something of you, right?” 

Jason blinks. “Uh, yes? Have you met me?” 

Okay, maybe breakfast isn’t the most conventional time for this kind of discussion. Tim stayed up all night with this research, though; he needs to get it off his chest. 

“If—when—we have sex, too. I’d like to use the traffic light system. Don’t know if you heard about it?“ 

Jason nods. “Yeah. I’m familiar.” He frowns. “You think you’ll need them?” 

“There’re some things I’d like to try. I just think you’d like them, and I would—” Tim’s brain catches up with his mouth. “Wait. No, I don’t think _I_ ’ _ll_ need them. They’re for you, Jason.” 

Jason looks as if this is an entirely novel concept. “For me?” 

“Yes, love.” Tim’s voice is gentle. “For you. You said that you like receiving orders sometimes, and I sure like giving them, in case you hadn’t noticed—” 

“I have.” Jason’s grin is a bit smug and a lot reassuring. At least Tim’s not the only one thinking about this. 

(He wonders what he would find if he checked Jason’s search history. That would be transgressive, right?) 

“I’d like to continue exploring that,” he soldiers on, “but I need to be sure that you’ll say ‘no’, or ‘red,’ or ‘stop’ when you don’t want something. Or ‘yellow’ if you just want to pause or aren’t sure. Doesn’t matter the word, doesn’t matter the situation, I’ll never think less of you for it.” 

Ha. That came out well. 

Jason takes a deep, slightly overwhelmed breath before he agrees, but he does agree. “Same goes for you. Tell me when you’re uncomfortable.” 

“Okay.” There’s that warm feeling again; the one that tells him he’s safe, loved, here with this this man at a kitchen table that’s rapidly becoming _theirs_ , discussing aspects of possibly kinky sex they’re not having yet. 

Sometimes he loves his life, he really does.

Sitting together, sharing space on the couch has become a habit by now. Doesn’t matter if they’re working or relaxing, which place they end up at, Tim will be sitting there pressed against Jason and soaking up his warmth. 

Until he gets his best idea yet. 

“Mind if I sit in your lap?” 

Jason, engrossed in a novel, pats his thigh absently. “Not at all.” 

Tim hasn’t ever done this before, so it takes him a second to figure out how to best do this. In the end, he just gets up and sits back down on Jason like he’s a particularly alive sort of chair. Finding his balance takes a moment, too, and even then, it’s not truly _comfortable_ until Jason sneaks an arm around his middle and leans back, shifting Tim’s center of gravity so he’s leaning on Jason and it’s _heaven_. 

“Thanks,” Tim murmurs. 

They go back to their own activities. After an hour or so, Tim notices that Jason is losing focus on his book—he’s turning the pages at about half the speed he usually would. There’s something weighty about his movements. It’s almost as if he’s so relaxed, he’s sleepy. When Tim turns his head and runs a gentle hand through Jason’s hair, Jason blinks up at him. 

“You’re good for me, hmm?” Tim is aware he sounds smitten. It’s okay. Jason can know. 

Jason shudders in response, nods, tentative but pleased. Tim knows that he’ll do anything, use every advantage, to make Jason look like that again.

Their relationship has never bled into the field. They work together, yes, but Jason has not taken orders from anyone in years, and Tim never expected that to change. He will, however, on occasion, press his advantage.

“Hood!” Tim calls out through the coms. “Be careful.” 

There’s grumbling, but Jason finally grants: “The situation is contained for now. I can wait for you.” 

The stunned silence from the rest of the family makes Tim grin. He makes sure to reward Jason with plenty of kisses that night. 

They built upon that, small gestures folding into bigger ones until it becomes just one more part of the dynamics between them. Not the most important one, not by far, but a welcome one, nonetheless. 

And boy-howdy, it sure makes Tim feel a certain kind of way. Powerful, but in a good way. Like he’s good at something, can take care of Jason. It’s easier to be selfish when it’s clearly making Jason happy to be of service. 

If he wasn’t before, he’s 100% sure that Jason knows what he’s doing by now and encouraging it. The way he seeks Tim out—how he even asks, sometimes, for Tim to make a choice for him, to give him something to do for him—speaks for itself. 

And one evening, it’s easy to give in. 

They’re watching a movie, and there’s one of these usual hetero, white, fade-to-black sex scenes in them where the sheets barely cover her boobs but not his butt. Tim’s a bit bored, quite frankly, and shifting around more in Jason’s lap than he intends, ‘cause Jason’s getting hard underneath him. 

Tim gives it a good moment’s thoughts, but… it feels like it would be natural to keep going. Like they’re ready. So he moves more deliberately, circling his hips in a way that he hopes looks enticing and not just dorky. 

Either way, Jason seems to like it, because he’s trying to muffle a groan into Tim’s shoulder. Tim grins and stays right where he is for the rest of the movie, moving just enough to make sure Jason stays worked up. 

It honestly shouldn’t be that hot. He’s had Jason suck him off in an alley, for god’s sake; they’re still fully clothed, there aren’t any kisses nor touches, really, just Jason’s cock, pressing up against him; the slowly increasing tension in Jason’s body as he tries not to squirm; the way his breathing speeds up whenever Tim gets his grind on. 

He’s being good, though, and doesn’t say anything until the credits roll. “Babe, you’re killing me here.” 

Tim grins; he can’t help it. “You like that, huh?” 

He means to be teasing, but it must come out wrong because suddenly Jason is tensing up in a bad way. “I’m sorry,” Jason whispers. 

“Sh,” Tim soothes him, taking Jason’s hand and moving it to where his own sweatpants are tented. “I like it, too.” 

“Oh.” Jason’s hand spreads, and then he gropes Tim through his sweats. “Is that so?” 

“Fuck.” Tim can’t help pressing up against the pressure, into Jason’s talented hand. When he sinks back down, he’s rubbing against Jason’s cock again, like a chain reaction of pleasure. 

And this is supremely hot, really, but the memory of the last time they had sex still sits like a stone in Tim’s stomach. Not enough to make him uncomfortable; enough that he asks: “Can I look at you?” 

See, this is where the practice comes in. Jason considers it, then tells him: “Yes.” 

“Thank you,” Tim murmurs. Turning around in Jason’s lap comes a lot more naturally than it would have a month ago. So does kissing Jason, deep and slow and hot; moving his mouth down, kiss by kiss, until he’s biting at Jason’s neck, trying to keep himself from leaving a bruise even as it makes Jason shiver so beautifully. 

“Open your pants, love,” Tim finally says, “and then mine.” 

It’s the first time he phrases it as an order, not a question. Months ago, he would’ve expected Jason to bristle and put on extra clothes just to spite him. Tim knows that if it were any other situation, anyone other than him giving the order, Jason would still do that and throw in a middle finger for good measure. 

But here, with Tim? He lifts his hips in a supreme show of core strength, unzips his pants, and scrambles to do the same to Tim. His eyes on Tim’s cock are hungry as if he’s barely restraining himself from touching. 

First, though, Tim wants to look at him. That Jason is gorgeous is nothing new. The flush on his cheek is, though, and the way his stomach quivers when Tim runs gentle fingers over it. His cock is hard, beads of precome running from the tip. 

“Now that’s _pretty_.” 

Jason squirms, but he doesn’t protest, just asks: “Can I touch you now?” 

“Both of us.” He’d like to take his time with Jason, but he knows that Jason wants to please him, that he’ll feel bad if Tim comes second even if Tim doesn’t mind, so he agrees. Not like it’s a hardship, who is he kidding here.

Besides, seeing their cock lined up as Jason takes them both into one of his big hands is something Tim vows to never forget. That image will get him off when he’s seventy. 

Jason’s mouth lands on his jaw, distracting him; then just beside his mouth, and when Tim tilts his head up, he’s kissed within an inch of his life. His hands go into Jason’s hair, holding on more tightly than he probably should, but all Jason does is groan and move his hand faster. 

It’s too much, too quickly. Tim has to draw back to gasp into Jason’s mouth, try to pull in as much air as possible as his body shakes and he comes all over the two of them. That seems to be all Jason needs: His head tips back, his eyes close as he sighs and comes, a beautiful picture of fulfillment. 

It takes a minute or two before either of them can move. Then Tim goes for the tissues they keep under the couch to clean the hand Jason is wordlessly holding out to him, and Jason gets them dressed again. The whole time, Tim makes sure not to stop touching him. When they’re somewhat presentable again, Jason leans back without prompting, turning them so Tim’s half underneath him, covered but not squished. 

Tim feels a bit like purring. 

“So…” Jason starts, then looks like he doesn’t know how to go on, and if he even wants to. 

“Nap,” Tim says firmly. “Talk after. Wanna enjoy you.” 

Jason smiles against his skin. “Sounds like a plan.” 

“Hey, love.” Tim kisses Jason’s neck, watching the other man wake up from their nap. His hands have wound themselves tightly into Jason’s shirt as they slept, and he doesn’t bother loosening them. He wants to be very clear that he does not regret what happened in the slightest. 

“Sleep well?” Jason asks as he pulls back, cheek dimpling with a hint of a smile. 

Tim stretches his back out as much as he can with his boyfriend on top of him, feeling like a cat that found a beam of sunshine. “Very well. You?” 

“Same.” Then Jason sighs. “I guess this is where we talk?” 

Tim laughs. “It’s important.”

“I guess I can’t argue with the results,” Jason grumbles. “Shoot.” 

Tim starts with the most critical question: “Did it, at any point, feel like the panic would come back?” 

Jason hesitates, but he finally admits: “Yes. Once. When you asked if I liked that.” 

Tim nods. That one he noticed, and he makes a mental note not to use that kind of teasing, at least not for a long while. “I’m sorry, love.” 

“Not your fault.” 

Tim disagrees, but it’s not worth arguing about. He’ll just do better next time. “And after that?” 

“Really good. Like hot damn, babe.” Jason gives a wolf-whistle. It’s too loud for how close they are, but it certainly gets his point across. 

“You, too. Anything specific?” 

“I liked the waiting,” Jason tells him, and Tim rewards him with a smile, because he did, too. “Makes it easier to turn off my brain. And you can bite down harder next time.” 

“Oh?” Tim’s smile turns something wicked. “Now _that’s_ good to know.” 

Jason doesn’t look like he minds the prospect. There’s something distracted about his smile now, though. “Are we done with talking now? Because quite frankly, you need a shower, and my underwear feels disgusting.” 

“One more thing.” An idea is forming in Tim’s head. “Can I take you out on a date?” 

“Tim.” Jason looks serious, but the corner of his mouth is twitching. “We’ve been doing that.” 

Tim thinks about the fair, about Wayne Galas and shopping trips and cooking together, and yeah, fair. “Still.” 

“Gonna pick me up on Friday night?” Jason teases. “Wine and dine me?” 

“Why not?” 

“I guess I don’t have any plans.” 

Tim grins. “Then it’s settled. Friday. I’ll pick you up at seven.” 

“I’ll be looking forward to it.” Jason’s smile is nothing but sincere. “Now. Shower.” 

True to his word, Tim picks Jason up on his bike on Friday. Which means that he had to walk home from Jason’s apartment, change and immediately drive back, but whatever. It’s the gesture that counts. 

He’s got reservations for them at the Délicieuse. It’s a swanky place, the kind where it needs the combined forces of the names ‘Drake’ and ‘Wayne’ to get them a reservation on a Friday night. Neither of them are really into the fine dining thing usually, but tonight… tonight Tim wants to show Jason off. 

And ooh boy, does Jason look the role. Never mind that Jason whistles when he sees Tim, _he_ ’s the one looking stunning in a classic suit. He’s even wearing a waistcoat. _A waistcoat_. Tim wouldn’t be surprised if there’s steam coming out of his ears right now. 

Without thinking about it, he pulls out his phone and takes a picture. That’s one for the Gram for _sure_.

“Why, thank you, Mr. Drake. You look positively ravishing yourself.” Jason’s tone is joking, but Tim doesn’t think he’s kidding. 

“The pleasure is all mine.” Tim gestures to where he’s parked mere steps away from the building. “Shall we?” 

Jason eyes the bike with amusement. Okay, yes, Tim got the old Harley out of storage for this one time. Might’ve been a bit much. “Are you trying to convince me you’re a bad boy, babe? ‘Cause I think that spot’s still solidly taken.” 

“I’m not gonna take that from the guy who cries at Disney movies and quoted three pages of Jane Austen at me yesterday.” 

“What, you thought I’m talking about me? Nah, I meant the brat.” 

“That’s… that’s fair, actually. Now,” Tim throws him his helmet, “are you going to get on this bike or what?” 

Jason scoffs and puts it on. “Like I’m gonna miss an opportunity to cling to your back.” 

Tim stops, though. “Wait. You used to hitch rides even before we got together. Like, a long time before that.” 

“Duh. Like I said. I’m not one to miss out on that good shit.” 

That earns him a kiss on the helmet before Tim puts on his own. He climbs on first, swiftly joined by Jason, who locks his arms around his middle. And then they’re off, the machine humming solidly under them. The ride is a short one, barely ten minutes with the way Tim’s weaving through traffic. 

At least the parking service at the restaurant looks duly impressed by the bike. Gotta take your victories where you get them. They lock up their helmets. Tim takes Jason’s hand as they walk in and doesn’t let go until they’re seated in a neat little alcove. There’s candlelight and mood music. Tim is sure that if he’d gone so far and brought Jason a rose, they would have produced a vase for it without blinking. 

“Go ahead and order for us, love,” Tim says. Jason knows what Tim likes, even if he spends way too much time on the wine menu for someone who doesn’t actually like it that much. 

“Alfred taught me,” he explains. “Said it was part of pretending to be one of the rich folks.” 

Tim blinks. He’s never been explicitly introduced to wine. Now that Jason mentions it, though, he remembers the countless times adults described its taste around him during his childhood. He probably wouldn’t sound out of line talking about it, even if he secretly categorized wine into ‘okay’ and ‘blergh.’ 

“You can just order a beer. Or one of those fruity cocktails you love.” 

Jason looks betrayed, as if Tim revealed a deep dark secret of his and not something he declares every time he gets two shots in. Then he relents with a grin: “Yeah, but I can get these anytime. We’re being fancy tonight, aren’t we?” 

“I guess. Just don’t get wine stains on that suit, or I might cry.” 

The waiter appears, and Jason orders the chef’s recommendation menu for both of them, with filet mignon for Tim and bean stew for himself. When their starters arrive, together with their first wine, Jason lifts the glass and smiles at Tim. “To you.” 

…so that’s why he wanted the whine. Sap. Tim’s dating a sap. 

He raises his own glass and corrects him: “To us.”

There’s a satisfying clink as they seal the deal. 

As he pays—he insisted on it, and Jason just told him,’Go ahead, babe’—Tim congratulates himself on his choice of restaurant. The food was delicious, enough so that Jason got a bit rambly about glazing carrots at some point. The waiters were discreet throughout. No need to worry about this ending up in the tabloids tomorrow. 

Yeah. This is proper romancing. So far, Tim’s giving himself an A+. 

The way home passes even faster than the way there. Tim parks the machine, makes sure to set his custom alarms and tracker, and then solicitously holds Jason’s hand as he walks him to the building. 

When they reach the door, Jason turns to Tim and says very seriously: “If you try to drop me off with a kiss, I will scream.” 

Tim lets his smile get seductive in response to the heat in Jason’s eyes. “Oh? What would you like instead?” 

“I really, really, really… would like to have sex on a bed. I hear it’s nice.” 

“Now that, I believe, can be arranged.” 

“Uhm.” That’s… that’s a third voice. A woman, presumably one of Jason’s neighbors, is standing less than a few feet away from them, holding a key. “Excuse me.” 

Right. They’re blocking the entrance. 

Tim didn’t even notice her. They are an embarrassment to the batclan, is what they are. Tim can feel himself blush. Jason, though, is grinning and probably considering provoking her by making out with Tim or something. 

He pulls him aside before he can do any such thing. It would totally ruin the mood Tim is going for here, and he has _plans_. 

(They should save the PDA for someone who deserves it, like Dick. Or Damian.) 

There’s an awkward shuffle, and then they’re alone again. This is why those movie scenes are always set in front of a suburban, single-family home, Tim realizes. He’d bet anything there are at least three pairs of eyes watching them through the curtains right now. Again, being reported to the police for public indecency: potentially fun, not on the menu tonight. 

“Awww,” Jason croons, “embarrassed?” 

“I imagined this being more romantic,” Tim admits. 

“See, and here I was pretty sure you’re into exhibitionism.” 

"I mean,” Tim grins back, leaves the sentence hanging. “Tonight, I want you for myself, though.” 

Jason sighs theatrically. “I guess…” Then he perks up. “You know. If we grapple up, you won’t have to face her if she’s waiting for us to appear on the stairs.” 

What. “Where exactly are you hiding a grapple?” 

“In the lockbox.” Jason demonstrates. “It’s meant for Air B’n’B guests, but which tourist is desperate enough to book something in this area? I changed the code two months ago and nobody complained yet.” 

“And… you did that, why?” 

“It’s faster. Easier if I’m masked.” Jason shoots. There’s the familiar clink of the hook catching, and he waggles his eyebrows. “Express taxi to my bedroom, just waiting for you.” 

Well. Put it like that… “Sure.” Tim steps into Jason’s arms. “Get us home, love.” 

They make it up to the apartment in record time. Jason has barely enough time to dismantle security for long enough to let them through, so eager is Tim to press their laughing mouths together; get that kiss he’d been hoping for outside. They stand like that for a long time, just kissing, fingers brushing over skin and scars and burns. 

It’s a good thing they got their second-first time out of the way. There’s less pressure this way. Tim still wants to make it great for Jason, to show him everything he can have, but he suspects that urge won’t be sated with just one time—might not be stilled within a lifetime. 

If tonight isn’t perfect, that’ll be okay too. Tim knows that now. 

It feels like they’ve been making out for hours (or maybe just seconds) when Jason pulls away to ask: “I really want to blow you again. Can I?” 

“Fuck, yes.” 

He kind of expects Jason to drop to his knees straight away, to go straight for it—but Jason takes off Tim’s suit jacket, first, carefully hanging it over the chair. His shirt follows. A gentle push directs Tim toward the bed, and when he sits down, he’s divested of his suit pants, socks, and boxers. 

“You, too,” Tim requests. 

There’s nothing shy about Jason’s movements as he strips. His eyes are mostly on Tim, on his body, anyway. Tim does his best not to preen. 

Jason leaves his underwear on, but Tim doesn’t comment on that beyond: “Wonder Woman? Really?” 

“Did I or did I not just take Goose Game boxers off you?” 

Tim would reply, really, but Jason is crawling between his legs now, and the look of utter focus he’s giving him is making banter more difficult than any of Gotham’s villains ever managed. 

“Start slow,” Tim says instead. It’s something he genuinely likes, but he also wants to draw this out. 

Jason does, worshipping Tim’s cock with gentle licks as if it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. When he closes his lips over the tip and starts sucking, his eyes fall shut. It doesn’t feel like he’s shutting Tim out, though; he’s very clearly present and into what’s happening. 

Tim winds a hand into his hair, and Jason groans around his cock, increasing the pace, taking as much of Tim into his mouth as he can. His arms hang by his side. 

“It’s okay,” Tim tells him, remembering that bruising grip from before, “you can touch me.” 

Jason lifts his hands, but only places them on Tim’s thighs, gently rubbing as if he just likes feeling the soft hair rasp against his skin. He doesn’t try to stop Tim from moving. 

Maybe he doesn’t feel like he has to. 

“Want me to hold still for you?” Tim asks. “Or fuck your mouth?” 

There’s a whine that clearly indicates which option Jason prefers. Tim grins to himself. Using the grip he has on Jason’s hair, he pulls him off just enough. “Use your words, love. Green?” 

It takes Jason a second to find his bearings. When his eyes flutter open to meet Tim’s, his pupils are contracted. “Yes. Fuck my mouth.” 

“Good boy,” Tim says. For a second, he thinks he might’ve gone too far with that, too cliché, but Jason laps it up. Literally. Tim’s distracted for a long minute by his sheer enthusiasm, until a growl reminds him that he promised something. 

Slowly, carefully, he pulls his hips back, then feeds his cock into Jason’s mouth inch by inch. Jesus, that’s a sight. He’s getting a bit messy, spit dribbling out of the side of his mouth, his lips steadily reddening with each pass of Tim’s cock. 

There are these little contractions of his throat, those tiny sounds that tell him just how much Jason loves this, which somehow makes it the best blowjob Tim’s ever received by, like, a mile. 

“I’m gonna come in your mouth.” Tim says it out loud, just to hear the words. “Fuck, Jason—” He honestly thinks he blacks out for a second, coming in spurts over Jason’s tongue, down his throat. 

When he can see clearly again, Jason’s mouth is still on Tim’s cock, though he has slowed his ministrations to a gentle sucking that would be soothing if Tim weren’t so sensitive. Tim actually has to pull him off after a minute, his body a mess of conflicting sensations. 

He uses the momentum, pulling Jason all the way up so he can kiss him, give him some time to recalibrate. Then he presses his hand against the bulge in Jason’s shorts. Jason’s whines and tries to thrust against him, panting against Tim’s mouth, his eyes squeezed shut and his expression overwhelmed. 

In his mind, Tim hears Jason say, _I’m just not made for trusting,_ and thinks: _Bullshit._ Jason is made for trusting, so much, so beautifully that it’s dangerous, that he’s had to protect himself. Tim is intent on showing him what a gift he is. 

“I want you to open me up, love,” he murmurs against his mouth. “Get me ready for you, fuck me, and then you can come. Think you can do that for me?” 

“Fuck, yes. Gonna make you feel good, I promise,” Jason whispers, and Tim tells him: “I know you will.” 

They breathe each other in. 

Tim crooks a smile. “Lube?” 

Jason blindly reaches a hand out, stretching to grab a bottle from the nightstand. Always prepared, that man. Tim supposes he made his intentions for the evening rather clear when he asked Jason on a date right after sex. 

Watching Jason slick the fingers of one hand is enough to rekindle some interest in Tim. And then Jason makes eye contact and slowly, deliberately, slicks up his pinkie, too. There’s enough promise in his gaze to heat the room by at least ten degrees.

(Also. Fair. Jason’s packing what he’s promising. Tim never minded a stretch, but he’s gonna need a bit of help here.) 

Tim leans back again, let’s Jason scoot back and settle between his thighs again. He looks like he belongs there. 

Jason is patient, opening Tim up with one gentle finger at first, then another. His eyes linger on the place where his fingers enter Tim’s body with something like awe. 

At first, it’s just good. Jason’s doing not anything but stretching, working his fingers in one-by-one, which is precisely what Tim needs. He’s still shivering a bit, sensitive and torn between satisfaction and want. Two orgasms are a lot to aim for, to him, even if he’s done it before and liked it. 

Then Jason starts getting a little more insistent, his fingers a little more aimed. Tim moans when they brush past that spot that feels best. “Yeah, there.” With every stroke, the pleasure is building. He can feel his cock start to harden against his stomach again. Jason notices, too. 

“You really like this, do you?” Jason sounds fascinated. Given what he told Tim about his own experiences, Tim should probably give a more explanatory answer than a gasped “yes” when Jason targets that spot again and keeps his fingers there, rubbing, but it is what it is. 

“Bet I could make you come like this.” 

“That’s not what I want.” Tim’s trying to sound in any way convincing. He’s panting, flushed; the little groans that keep spilling out of his mouth aren’t helping. 

Jason twists his fingers again, though, the rough skin of his knuckle rasping just so against Tim’s rim, and Tim can’t help the full-body shudder that rattles through him. Jason chuckles. “You sure?” 

It takes Tim a second to orient himself again, but he gets a hand into Jason’s hair and pulls it back, and oh yeah, there’s that beautiful arch again. “Now, be good for me.” 

That heaviness returns to Jason’s gaze, and he simply whispers, “Yes.” 

His movements are more careful after that. Finally, he pulls out entirely; it takes him a moment to speak. Tim waits more or less patiently. 

“I—” Something like a whimper leaves Jason’s throat, and fuck, that shouldn’t be so hot. “I want to—” 

“Anything.” It doesn’t matter what it is; doesn’t even matter even if Jason is asking to come because Tim will never deny him when he sounds like that. 

Jason swoops down, gets his hands under Tim’s thighs, lifting him up as he weighs less than a feather, and then he’s—Tim’s brain fries for… he doesn’t know how long because Jason’s eating him out like his life depends on it. 

It can’t taste good. They’re using standard lube, for one thing, and, well, it’s an asshole. Tim cleaned, but… 

Jason, however, groans against him like it’s the best thing that ever happened to him, which in turn makes it feel like the best thing that ever happened to Tim. “Fuck,” Tim curses. 

It’s so very good, and he abandons himself to it, riding Jason’s mouth until he’s slick and relaxed and so, so ready for more. He could come like this. He _will_ come like this, one day, probably more than once.

(He can see it. An afternoon spent on his back, or maybe his knees; Jason buried between his thighs until they can’t breathe, can’t think beyond this.) 

But coming now would leave him too sensitive for Jason to fuck him anytime soon, and Tim’s gonna die if he’s not getting Jason inside him within the next five minutes. 

“Stop,” he gasps, and Jason draws back immediately. 

His brain is slow, but the worry is quick to come—that was phrased too closely to a rejection. Instead of saying something, though, with words that aren’t coming together right, he leans forward, gets on his knees to kiss Jason’s slick mouth. The taste makes him groan. It’s not in disgust. 

Jason kisses back with enthusiasm, holding himself tense. It would take so little to set him off. Tim nips his lower lip, then sucks on it, delighted with the groan that gets him. It’s hard not to lose sight of his goal; he barely manages to pull back after a minute or so. 

“Take those shorts off and lie on your back for me?” he asks. Jason scrambles to do exactly that, all dignity in his movements gone, and Tim marvels at the way he doesn’t even hesitate, doesn’t question Tim’s motives. 

As a reward (and because he wants to,) Tim climbs on top of him, linking one of their hands together and pressing them down on the sheets next to them. He doesn’t want Jason to feel trapped. The connection feels important, though. 

His free hand goes for the lube, then slicks up Jason’s cock. He keeps his touch gentle, but Jason still shudders. 

“One more thing,” Tim says, and it’s not because he wants to tease Jason—he doesn’t, not anymore—but because he _needs_ to do it. The bare skin of Jason’s neck is calling to him. 

Tim leans down and bites. Sucks until he knows it has to hurt, until he knows that there will be a bruise, that everyone will see that Jason is his. 

One day, he’ll suck a whole collar of them into Jason’s neck, he vows to himself. 

“Tim,” Jason groans. Tim waits, but nothing follows. When he pulls back, Jason’s pupils are blown, the blush stark on his face. 

“Okay?” he asks. 

It takes Jason a moment. Tim waits patiently. 

“Yeah. Okay. Green. Just—please—” 

“Sh, love, you don’t need to ask,” Tim tells him quickly as he reaches back and positions Jason’s dick against him. As tempting as Jason begging is, that’s not what he wants for him, for them, tonight. “You’ve been so good for me, _to me_. I’ll give you everything I can and more because you deserve it.” 

“Don’t want more. Just you.” 

“You have me, love. You have me.” 

When he feels Jason press into him, he sends a brief prayer of thanks to Bruce’s mandatory STI tests and exclusivity, because he hasn’t been fucked bare in way too long. There’s just something intimate about skin-on-skin. 

“Tim,” Jason whispers. “Tim.” 

He’s shaking, and so is Tim. God, he’s so full. For a long moment, they just breathe, let themselves get used to the feeling. 

Then Tim moves. 

Objectively, they’re not that great at this yet. Neither of them is up for keeping a rhythm anymore, and while Tim is in full control of the angle, he prefers keeping Jason close to having him hit the best spots. 

But his arm is around Jason’s neck, clinging to his shoulders, his hair; the other hand is holding on tight to Jason’s, trying to surround him with the vast love and protectiveness Tim feels for him, has always felt for him. And Jason clings back, enveloping Tim in the same feeling, as if he’s his anchor, the answer to every question, the one who made him believe in life again. It’s enough to make a man cry. 

“Come for me,” he says urgently, groaning when he feels Jason twitch inside him at the words. “Come for me, please, inside me, wanna feel it.” 

Jason goes quiet then; not the tense stillness of panic, but the breath you hold when there’s something so big, so monumental happening, it takes you a moment to process. When a noise finally tears itself free from his mouth, it’s a sob, and Tim watches in awe as he screws his eyes shut and comes, still moving his hips, still trying to give as much to Tim as he can.

Tim’s distantly aware that he’s talking, babbling I-love-you’s and yes-yes-yes and thank-you and so-good-so-good-love-you as his cock twitches and he spills over Jason’s stomach, marking him just as he’s been marked because it’s so fucking _good_. 

If the world keeps on moving in the minutes that follow, Tim wouldn’t swear on it. 

Jason slips out of him as they crumble onto the mattress, but the twinge of too-much is easy to ignore in favor of crawling as deeply into Jason’s embrace as he possibly can. Tim is still whispering praise, though he’s not aware of his words, just that it’s pouring out of him to make sure Jason _knows_. 

It takes some time before that urge calms down. In the silence that follows, he listens to Jason’s breathing, reassuring himself that it’s even and calm; that he did well, didn’t scare Jason away, picked the right plan and the right amount of improvisation and enjoyed the hell out of it. 

_Good job, Robin_ , he thinks and bites back a giggle. 

Eventually, Jason stretches again and picks up some tissues from the nightstand. How he has the energy to do anything but sleep for a year, Tim doesn’t know. Maybe he just likes being clean _that_ much. Tim’s gonna have to make sure to have some wet wipes on his own nightstand from now on. 

When they’re somewhat clean again, Tim presses against Jason’s side, and Jason accommodates him immediately. It takes them a second to arrange themselves, but they end up on their sides, facing each other, hands linked and legs entangled. 

Jason tells him quietly: “I didn’t know it could be like that. Thank you.” 

“Wanna know a secret?” Tim whispers back, playful and intimate in their shared breath. “Neither did I.” 

They fall asleep like that, warm and safe and yes: easy. It’s not a bad start to a relationship. Not at all. 


End file.
